Solitude
by OliviaH123
Summary: Harry Potter was no stranger to keeping secrets, and Severus Snape was no novice in the art of uncovering them. (Or rather, a Mentor!Snape fic in which one snarky potions master finds out about Harry's home life, and what happens after. Non-cannon compliant, AU after year five. Rated T for abuse)
1. Prologue

If there was one concept that Harry James Potter had been forced to reconcile within his rather short existence, it was secrets.

It seemed to Harry that through some unfair conspiracy in the universe, the entire course his life was defined by a numerous amount of secrets of one kind or another. They were good and bad, big and small, and involved almost every person and subject possible.

There were the secrets that came into play before he had any say in the matter, such as his parents necessary secret as to the identity of their secret keeper, or the very real threat of exposure of the magical world to the muggle population that Harry was firmly told was not to come to pass, as the separation of the two very different communities had been in place for centuries.

There were the secrets between friends, like Ron's insistence that nobody find out about his deathly fear of spiders or the fact that Harry had been warned on pain of castration that no one was to become aware that Hermione snorted when anyone told a particularly clever pun.

There were the secrets he was asked to keep, such as the details of the events that had transpired at the end of every school year, (Dumbledore was very particular when it came to the sharing of important information) and the secrets he felt were not his right to share. Such as his disastrous little foray into Snape's memories the previous year during his Occlumency lesson, and his following suspicion that his Potions Professor was more involved in lives of Harry's parents then he had led others to believe.

Harry's biggest secret, however, was kept not from a sense of duty, or even fear of bodily harm, but rather a sense of lonely responsibility and the complete conviction that no one could possibly understand. Harry was as much a stranger to forced independence as he was to the necessity of secrets.

Which is to say, he was much too familiar with it for his own liking.

If an observing psychologist could have a glimpse into the savior of the wizarding world's mind, they might find a lasting impression made upon him by the countless number of adults who had failed him in his lifetime. Some were supposed to love him, some were supposed to teach him. Others to protect him, and still, others to stand by him in times of tribulation. To preserve what was left of his childhood before it was too late. They had failed. And in Harry's eye's, the lesson of independence and self-reliance seemed infinitely irreversible.

Such were the musings of Gryffindor's golden boy as he sat alone in a train compartment of the Hogwarts express waiting for his friends to arrive after his fifth year's summer vacation.

Harry sighed heavily as he leaned against the softly cushioned seats of the train compartment and gently cradled his carefully glamoured arm to his chest. It had been a long summer. The shouts and taunts, so common in his summertime residence, had morphed to an uneasy hostility with his relatives after Harry returned to Number Four Privet Drive at the beginning of that dreadful summer.

Already suffering in silence from the death of his godfather, Harry had been hard pressed to care about the tension he felt building in the suspiciously quiet weeks leading up to the crowning event of yesterday, nor could he find it in himself to dredge up any modicum amount of concern about the severely limited rations of food he had been receiving in the last three months.

Subdued and silent, Harry had born the mistreatment with a weary resentment that had seemed more appropriate than anger. In fact, it seemed to Harry that all of the anger he had the capacity to feel in his entire life had been expelled the night Sirius fell through a twisting shadowy curtain far beyond Harry's reach.

And so it was not with anger that Harry had confronted his Uncle the day before September 1st to insist that he would be returning to Hogwarts the coming school year. Neither did Harry feel the expected anger as he was slammed into the wall by his wrist for his efforts of diplomacy. His goal was met, his point was made. He would be returning home to the wizarding world the next day.

Not anger. Just resignation and the splintering pain of a fractured wrist.

As he had sat in his small cluttered room wrapping his injury, Harry's one thought had been on how exactly he would be able to conceal this injury from his friends the next day. He was not so untrusting in the sensibility of the adults at Hogwarts to assume that punishments would not be carried out against his Aunt and Uncle for their actions towards him should anyone find out. Nor was he particularly eager to be removed from their home now that he knew the true severity of The Dark Lord's enmity towards him and anyone who dared to harbor him. _No. _He thought as he carefully researched glamours to hide his malnourishment and injuries and casually arranged to arrive at the train station half an hour early to perform his little bit of concealing magic. _As miserable as it was for him at the Dursleys, it was the safest option for everyone he cared about._

As he stared out the window he ignored the small nasty voice in his mind that reminded him of his other motive in the matter. It really wasn't all that important.


	2. Chapter 1

**Okay, okay, okay. Just to be clear, I do NOT own any of the characters, or even settings of this story. All rights go to the creator. I actually forgot to put a disclaimer at the beginning of the prologue, but hey, you all know the drill ;) **

**On another note, I have found that editing by yourself sucks. Especially when you're a perfectionist. So if anyone would be willing to be a beta reader for this story I would be immensely grateful :) **

**Also, particularly because I _don't_ have a beta reader yet, I very likely will go back and change little things in the prologue and chapters that I find to be unsatisfactory. Just a warning.**

**Aaand... I think that's it. I hope you all enjoy!**

**(Reviews are welcome)**

* * *

Chapter 1

Harry was awoken from an uneasy nap by a hand shaking his shoulder and a familiar voice quietly speaking his name. The first thing he noticed when regaining consciousness, was that the pains spell he had cast earlier had not taken effect yet. (A major downside if you asked Harry.) The second was that were very familiar shapes standing over him. Through blurry vision, he spotted what appeared to be a figure accompanied with a trademark head of long frizzy brown hair as well as another blurry shape accented with much shorter red hair.

He smiled a little bit to himself as he recognised the first figure as one of his best friends Hermione Granger, and couldn't help grinning as he further recognized the tone of voice she was now clearly using to berate his other best friend Ron Weasley as Harry sat up and began searching for the glasses that had fallen off of his face during his short rest.

"The answer is still no! You should have done your summer DADA homework when you were _supposed_ to, instead of putting it off and trying to copy mine. You are a _P__erfect_, and you need to start acting like it. I'll not have you slacking off this year Ronald. NEWT's are coming up and you need to start thinking more about your future!"

Harry slipped on his glasses at last and tried desperately not to laugh at the scene that was suddenly visible to him as he saw Ron's ears turn an interesting shade of red as he sputtered indignantly at their female friend. Hermione huffed at him once in annoyance, her hair swinging over her shoulder in that infuriating way girls somehow always manage when they know they're right, and turned back to Harry, her face softening just a bit as she saw the amusement in his expression.

"It's good to see you, Harry." She said, leaning forward to give him a tight hug. "Summer seems much too long doesn't it?"

Harry nodded his agreement and blearily but carefully rubbed his tired eyes again, before leaning back in his chair and trying not to grimace at his building headache.

Merlin, he wished he had a fast acting pain relieving potion right now instead of the rubbish time-delayed pain and healing spell he had found in that second-hand healing book.

Well, no use crying about it now.

He allowed himself to relax slightly as his friends began discussing both of their summers, (Hermione was particularly ecstatic to share her findings from the isolated wizarding cultures she had studied in Spain) and all of the predictions for the new year, and most specifically, the new defense teacher.

As was easily predictable, Ron and Hermione had rather different opinions on the topic. Hermione thought that Dumbledore would have l_earned_ from the last few teachers, and was certain that he would go about reforming the tattered reputation of the DADA classes by hiring someone _decently_ respectable, while Ron was thoroughly convinced the new teacher would try to "Do Harry in" in any number of creative ways. Which he was very willing to go into wide, joking speculation about. (Hermione didn't seem to think it nearly as funny as Harry did.)

Exhausted and in pain as he was, Harry found himself nodding off to sleep once more with a smile on his face, and the occasional chuckle at any of Ron's particularly strange predictions for how the new defense teacher would try to kill him, content to listen to Ron and Hermione's whispered conversations as he drifted off.

* * *

It was a banging door that woke Harry next.

Well, that and the bucket of water.

Coughing and spluttering, Harry sat up to the loud sound of laughter. Noting with satisfaction that the stupid healing spell had _finally_ decided to kick in, Harry glanced at his amused friends and smiled at the well-timed prank that had clearly been set up by the two grinning redhead twins in front of him.

Fred and George looked the same as they did every year. Messy red hair, rundown clothes, easygoing smiles, and the promise of mischief. Harry had always thought that they must have practiced that particular look since it was _just_ subtle enough to be discreet, but present enough to be more than effective.

Harry was pretty sure the Hogwarts Professors had nightmares about that look.

Once the laughter had died down, and the twins had given Harry the most over the top, profuse apologies he had ever heard, (Much to the amusement of Ron and Hermione) Harry had found himself being yanked up by his shoulders, and dragged out of the compartment. A laughing Fred stopping only briefly to assure his best friends that there was "No need to worry, just some business items that need to be discussed with Harry-kins here. He will _probably_ return with his hair."

Not particularly a fan of being dragged around, especially with an injured wrist, (Pain spells or no) Harry was glad when George shoved him into the first empty compartment they could find. Not long after, he found himself comfortably seated across from the two biggest pranksters he knew.

For a moment, he waited for them to speak, before suddenly being accosted with a feeling of wrongness. He scrunched up his face, trying to figure out what he was feeling when the realization hit him like a bludger. Resisting the urge to start smacking his hand against his forehead at the obviousness of it, Harry sat up straighter and turned to the twins.

"Hang on, You're both graduated! What are you lot doing here?"

Fred and George looked at each other, before turning back to Harry and winking in perfect unison.

"Wouldn't miss the chance-"

"To prank our favorite Gryff,-"

"Now would we?"

"Besides," Fred finished with a grin, "We have some business matters to discuss with you."

"But how did you sneak onto the train?" Harry asked in a desperate bid to distract himself from the fact that while part of him was flattered that they put this much effort into meeting with him, the other part of his mind was rather terrified.

"Not much trouble, was it Fred?" George said happily before dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "The ministry doesn't do _nearly_ as good a job monitoring Portkeys as they would like us all to think. All we had to do, was go to a place with high magical energy concentration. Say, I don't know, _Diagon Ally_. And perform a rather simple spell to create a Portkey to take us to the train and back. Didn't take but a minute of our time."

"And speaking of time," Fred cut across with a mock glare. "You could have saved us a lot of it if you had bothered to stop in Diagon Ally for your school supplies, instead of having them delivered to Hogwarts via owl. Ron was a bit put out that you didn't go with him this summer, and heaven knows the rest of the house sees no peace when _Ronald_ is in a mood."

Harry rolled his eyes as George elbowed Fred and turned back to face him.

"And that," George said, "Leads us here. We simply felt it our duty to inform you that your investment into _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ hasn't been wasted and that the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Lend-Money, is earning a pretty knut from the profits that have, since we opened three months ago, been delivered directly to your vault at Gringotts on an annual basis. We thought we ought to thank you in person for the funds, as well as make you aware of the fact that you are a co-owner of the company."

"And now," Fred said grandly, standing and bowing before pulling George to his feet. "Our time has run out. If you would excuse us."

When Harry blinked, the twins were gone.

Shaking his head in amusement, Harry left the compartment and headed down the hall to his friends, more than ready to relax for the little while he had left until they reached Hogwarts.

Caught up thinking about his friends, the strange news he had just received from the twins, and the anxieties he was feeling in relations to returning to the crowded hallways of Hogwarts. Harry didn't see the foot that sent him sprawling to the floor. He did, however, recognize the slightly high pitched aristocratic voice that laughed as he fell.

In a snap, Harry had rolled onto his feet and flicked his wand into his hand, facing his three least favorite Slytherins. Malfoy, the git, had his own wand in hand and was looking _much_ too pleased with himself as he leaned against his compartment door, Crabbe and Goyle filling up the rest of the hallway with their bulk.

Acutely aware of his hidden injuries, and the risk he pulled getting into any kind of confrontation, Harry reigned in his irritation and sighed, turning back down the hallway and ignoring the taunts sent his way by his incompetent nemesis.

Harry was pretty sure that if he had to deal with Malfoy in any capacity this year he was sure to go _spare_.

Making a split second decision, Harry ducked into the bathroom and shut the door, before carefully removing the glamour on his wrist to see how the spells were holding up.

The wrist was dark purple and blue, with the faintest tinges of green and yellow at the edges where the healing and pain magic had been at work. The swelling had gone down significantly, he noticed, which was a blessing. Since the ability of this particular healing spell was extremely limited and being a novice, Harry wasn't sure how accurate he had even performed it.

The spell, found in an old healing book in the room of requirement at the end of last year, had been used in battles to reduce the severity of a serious injury when faster working, more extensive potions had not been available. From what Harry had been able to glean of healing magic from the book, advanced spells like the ones Madam Pomfrey used required not only great magical power but extensive practice. The spell Harry had found allowed field agents with minimal amounts of healing knowledge to limit the severity of an injury and to provide more safe and comfortable travel to the wounded.

For Harry, who had a fractured wrist and absolutely no healing ability, the spell was a godsend.

Moving the wrist around in circles, and trying to remember exactly what the book had detailed, Harry came to the conclusion that his wrist was no longer broken, just _very_ badly sprained, and that the continued use of pain spells should be enough for him to get by until it was healed in a few weeks.

Stepping out of the bathroom and heading back to his the compartment to throw on his robes, Harry couldn't help but feel that he had handled the whole thing rather admirably.

Now all he had to do was not get caught.

Easy.


End file.
